


Addiction

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, KickTheStickz - Freeform, M/M, Medication, Oblivious, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris stared at the man he paid with scammed money, eyes angry and challenging. "I'm not addicted to PJ," he said contemptuously. He wiped at his nose. "We're mates. We're mates, that's all."</p><p>His therapist nodded. "And, your other friends? Do they make you feel as you have described PJ making you feel?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to clear up that I don't really like writing about real people. However, seeing as PJ and Chris seem to be genuinely alright with it, and how these are the characters that the story came to mind for it, I'm gonna say "fuck it" and do it anyway, and try to still sleep at night.  
> xx

Chris wondered if it would be a waste of his time and/or money to spend the entire session squeaking his butt against the new leather armchair. His therapist was looking at him intently, pressed suit, black socks, polished shoes, parted hair, glasses poised and probably glued into the perfect therapist-appearance. Neither of them had said anything more than the formalities yet. The pressed suit leaned forward, _squeak squeak_ , and saggy skin stretched upwards as Dr. Gache leaned his face on his hand in a way that didn't make him seem bored, but professional. Obviously.

"How are you feeling today, Chris?"

Chris desperately fought the urge to roll his eyes, scowl hardening. It was always the same thing, every week, twice a week. Still, he never got used to it, never found himself feeling less annoyed by the question. And he wasn't rude, really, he wasn't. It was something about Dr. Gache being the one to try to figure Chris out when Chris couldn't do it himself that made him act like a pissed-off toddler.

"Not like I want to jump off a building or shove, I don't know, heroin into my arse crack, so you don't have to worry about that," Chris said, looking outward to the window. It was just barely sunny, the clouds spread scarcely enough that the air felt spacious, but close enough that it was still muggy and depressing.

Dr. Gache nodded. "That's good," he said, nodding. He took everything Chris said seriously. Probably, then, not one of his subscribers. Or, maybe, one of his most hardcore subscribers. He had never mentioned anything about knowing Chris from videos he watched on the internet in his spare time, his bookmarked porn open in the other tab.

"Chris, today I want to talk to you about your relationships with others," Gache said. He leaned back in his chair.  _Squeak squeak_. Chris's scowl twitched, his eyes yielding slight mirth, then falling back to calm resentment. "It seems like you've been regressing slightly, these past few weeks. Do you agree?"

"Do I agree?" Chris asked, raising his eyebrows. "What, that I've _regressed_ because everyone looks at me like I'm a ticking time bomb until I crack a joke? Because my mum calls me every night  _just to talk, sweetheart, because I love you_? Because the internet followers I have, in numbers enough to form a literal army, are all giving me too much attention, whether it's calling me out on being attention seeking, or saying how much they love me when only ten percent of  _those ones_ are grammatically correct enough that they have any impact on me? Yeah, I agree."

"I see," Gache said. "So, you're under stress. Understandable, if all that you say is happening."  _If._ Chris hated that fucking word. Dr. Gache said it too often. It made Chris's skin crawl. "Tell me, then, Chris, what keeps you grounded? You must have some sort of outlet, or I'd find it extremely hard to believe that you haven't gone mad."

Chris stared at Gache point blank. "I have gone mad, haven't I, that's why I'm here."

Gache shook his head with irritating certainty. "Not at all, Chris. Not at all, absolutely not. Some of the best minds in history were troubled, as yours is or worse. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just something that requires a bit of patience to mend."

"Yes, of course, you're right. Just three  _more_ years of patience," Chris said, guttural, agitated.

"Although it may seem hard to believe, you are far closer to recovery than you think," Gache bullshitted. Chris sat up straight, eyes bright.  _Squeak, squeak_.

"Gee, Doc, you're right! I just need nineteen extra bottles of pills, taken twice daily, with food, side effects included, and I'll be right as rain in no time! Why didn't I see it before?" Chris asked, mind blown. He sat back again.  _Squeak, squeak, squeak_.

Gache raised his eyebrows. "Have you been skipping your prescriptions, Chris?" he asked, gaze level. Chris, annoyed, stared out the windows once more.

" _No_ ," answered forcefully, the truth. He wasn't sure Gache believed him. Chris pretended to be too occupied watching a bird to take notice of the  _squeak, squeak_ as Gache crossed his left foot over his right knee.

"That's very good, then, and you're doing tremendously well," Gache said. Chris returned his attention to the voluntary torture. "Back to the topic at hand, then, Chris. Your outlet. How have you been dealing with everything?"

Chris shrugged, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Therapy?"

Gache cocked his head like a teacher guiding the thick student of the class to the correct answer. "Besides therapy," he redirected.  _Squeak, squeak_. He was leaning forward again, trying to bridge the fairly large gap between their chairs. 

Chris sighed through his nose, lips pursed, throwing in a perturbed hum. He played with a stray thread on the knee of his jeans, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. "PJ," he confessed, not looking at the doctor, annoyed and uncomfortable to admit it, because should it really be his best friend?

"PJ, yes," Gache said, familiar with the name because of the several times he'd come up in conversation over three years. Three long, long years. "Tell me a bit more about that."

Chris sighed, giving up on the thread but still staring at his hand on his knee, contempt. "It's like..." he began, then took a deep breath, blinked, and started again. "It's like, everything in my head is always going. Even if I'm doing nothing, it's just a constant buzz, eating at me from the inside. It's always there, so I don't notice really, and then... and then whenever I look at PJ, it all just sort of... goes. Everything is at rest, and it's like, that's the only time I know peace. My head suddenly realizes how fast it's been going, and time starts to crawl, for just a few moments, and I feel... better than anything."

Chris picked at the thread again as Gache said nothing. A condensed weight had been pulled from Chris's abdomen, and he could feel the relief throughout his entire body. Gache leaned back in his chair once more, so the leather spoke for him.  _Squeak, squeak_. Chris picked harder at the thread.

Sure, Gache was an alright guy. He was a pain in the neck because of his relationship to Chris, but he was also kind in his own way, constantly concerned, honestly caring, as professional as he kept it. He didn't pick fights or provoke Chris in a way the real world, the place that somehow only this square, library-like room did not exist in, quite often did. So, when Gache said something Chris had never expected to hear from him, some string in Chris was plucked the wrong way. It was like he short circuited, as Gache's calm, collected voice said, "You would do well not to become too dependent on other people during this part of your life, Chris. It makes for unhealthy relationships."

Chris's head snapped up, staring directly at Gache's hesitant eyes. " _Dependent_?" Chris demanded, voice high, as though he might be giving Dr. Gache another chance at wording. "Just like I shouldn't  _depend on_ my drugs? If the thought of taking my drugs annoys me, I should just not. I should say, 'nah, Dr. Gache told me not to get  _too_ dependent'. I shouldn't have any friends because whilst I'm miserable, I may as well be miserable all the way?"

"That's not what I meant by my phrasing, Chris," Gache said, though Chris felt something that, for every resentment he had felt for his doctor, had never happened before. A sliver of hatred shot into his heart, like someone had jammed a white-hot needle through his chest. "I am quite glad that you have such a good friend to talk to, that you feel so comfortable around. All I am suggesting is that you not get  _addicted_ to him - as you would do well not to have happen with your prescriptions, either."

Chris stared at the man he paid with scammed money, eyes angry and challenging. "I'm not addicted to PJ," he said contemptuously. "We're mates." He wiped at his nose. "We're mates, that's all."

His psychiatrist nodded. "And, your other friends? Do they make you feel as you have described PJ making you feel?"

Chris sniffed, wiped his brow. "Got good news for you - no other friends in danger of ruining the relationship with."

"But, you've mentioned other names to me in the past," Gache said, infuriatingly calm. Chris wanted to leap across the floor and spit in his face.

"They're not friends like PJ is," Chris said shortly. They can't accept it, can't treat him like a human being when he needs a sense of normalcy. They don't smile at him like PJ does, don't talk to him in a way that doesn't make him feel alienated, like he doesn't have a chance of getting better again.

Gache raised his eyebrows. "Is PJ someone you find yourself thinking of constantly - someone you might be interested in? Romantically or sexually?"

Chris's expression turned downright mutinous, his throat raging at the back as though it wanted to puke all over the room at hearing such a suggestion. "That's none of your business," he said, unable to make his words come out as much more than an angry breath. He spoke directly from his heaving diaphragm.

"Fair enough," said Gache, withdrawing. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. We can talk about something else. What about your mother? How are you getting along with her recently?" He sat forward.  _Squeak, squeak_. Chris gritted his teeth.

"Fine."

 

\+ + +

 

Chris made sure the orange bottle was well obscured from the other patrons of the coffee shop as he tipped a pill into his hand, clicked the lid, stowed it in his coat pocket, and put it down with his drink. He burped. An old woman looked at him like he had insulted her mother. Chris made a face to himself when she turned away. This was his life, now. Making crude faces at dodgy old cat ladies in coffee shops that he could barely afford because, at the moment, he hated all of his subscribers. They were probably his real outlet for emotions, but he wasn't about to tell Dr. Gache that, not after the abhorrent session that was.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he stepped out of the shop and onto the pavement. The sun had receded, and rain was likely on the way. Chris took out his phone.

_From: PJ  
_ _How'd it go?_

Chris juggled his drink to his right hand so he could type with his left. PJ was probably the one person in the world he would text back right now, even though what Gache had said would normally make Chris resent the hell out of one of his friends.

_To: PJ  
Fucking spectacular. He may have insinuated I was a whore._

Chris tried to flag down a cab, but they all seemed to psychically know that it would be the worst, most awkward, most traumatizing fare they ever took, and as such, acted as though Chris didn't exist. His phone buzzed again, and he nearly spilled his drink.

_From: PJ  
_ _No, that was probably you. Door is open if you want to come over._

Chris thought about it for approximately half a second before deciding that what he wanted more than anything else was a cure to his endless headache. PJ seemed to be the only magic he required, because the next cab was the one to stop. Chris slipped inside, slightly less scowly, gave the address, and sent a text back to PJ.

_To: PJ  
_ _Expect me in 10._

It was probably obvious from his dark demeanor that Chris didn't want to talk, so the cabbie didn't speak much. He made a few crazy remarks at things they passed, and Chris had to admit that he was genuinely funny, and caught himself chuckling at a few of the things said. He gave a nice tip when they arrived, a little upset that he would never see that man again.

PJ was waiting for Chris, tea already set out, telly set to DVD so they could watch a film together. As soon as Chris walked in the door, there it was. Everything constantly rushing in his ears dulled out in a split second, so he was left alone with a blissful, stressless silence. PJ was smiling at him in a way that only PJ could smile at damaged goods, somehow genuinely delighted by everything he came across, even when it bore an off-putting grimace and rain-slicked hair.

"Something to eat?" PJ asked, absolute music in Chris's peace-sensitive ears.

"Anything that doesn't trouble," Chris responded, taking off his coat and hanging it up, then kicking off his shoes. He saw the two mugs on the table, saw PJ messing around in the kitchen, and the cold, stiff parts of his insides became lukewarm. The microwave beeped several times, sporadically, and Chris sat on the floor in front of the couch and behind the table.

PJ didn't say anything, because he knew that Chris didn't want him to. Chris wanted to sit and feel the comforts of PJ's flat, and, more importantly, of PJ's presence. He wanted to take a moment to himself, to the uncommon silence, to adjust back into being a person who did normal things like watch films with friends and not yell at sixty thousand people via camera when he wasn't guzzling pills in coffee shops with cranky old ladies.

When PJ came back, he was holding a bowl of steaming something in each hand. "I see you've chosen one of our more comfortable seats," PJ said, as he laid the first bowl on the table in front of Chris. Reheated homemade chicken soup. PJ ruffled Chris's dewy hair, then took a seat in the armchair.

Chris smiled in return, eyes soft. "I don't have to explain myself to you, monster man," Chris said, because it was the only half-way insulting-sounding insult he could come up with. It didn't sound much more intimidating that 'adventure-haver', 'creative-guy', or 'pretty-eyes' would have, and those were the other first things that came to Chris's mind.

"Quite right," PJ agreed, tone fond, reaching for the remote. "What are we watching today, old buddy?"

Chris's top two picks were PJ's eyes, and the stars (with PJ), so for the second time, he made up another option on the fly. If they had to do this every time, PJ was going to get very sick of  _Grand Budapest Hotel_.  _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Chris woke up with his chest feeling expanded and light, the sign of a good day in the making. Yesterday had been one of the worse ones, he had to admit, but falling asleep in PJ's bed ( _with_ PJ, sadly the both of them fully-clothed) had made for a very good resolution to a rough twelve hours.

Chris rolled over to the middle of the bed. PJ was already awake. He was checking his phone. "If the Internet knew this happened habitually, we'd never hear the end of it," he said.

"Pfff, what are you talking about?" PJ asked. "This is as platonic as it gets. All mates sleep in each other's beds." He pulled Chris over by the shoulder like a rag doll, and Chris's chin jutted into PJ's chest. He giggled and wriggled farther into PJ's grasp, feeling giddy.

"Man, we're so lucky to be platonic," Chris agreed, breathing in PJ's scent in a way that wasn't at all platonic, if sniffing could be considered a romantic action. PJ's body acted like a small glitch went through it, then completely righted itself.

"You hungry?" he asked. Chris laughed.

"Are you going to make me a platonic breakfast?"

"I am, indeed," PJ assured him. "A plate-onic of eggs on toast."

After Chris finished groaning, as PJ shifted from under Chris and left the bed, Chris added, "I'll have to give you a platonic blow job afterwards, then."

"A bro job?" PJ asked.

"A bro job."

Chris saw PJ's shoulders shaking with laughter that he didn't hear, because PJ was usually more breath than laughter. His gray shirt shouldn't have counted as a shirt. It was threadbare. His curly hair was mussed at the back from the pillow. Chris smiled, because he knew PJ couldn't see.

PJ abruptly turned around, and Chris wiped his face blank, because they had  _just_ had a conversation about how platonic they were. He knew that PJ didn't see him that way, and it had taken a long time, but Chris had adjusted to that.

"So, breakfast?" Peej asked. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging the curls and displacing the back. Chris sighed in contentment.

"Hell, yeah," Chris said. He really didn't want to get out of bed. PJ's bed. It was so, so warm. He brought his hands up behind his head and closed his eyes. PJ was laughing again.

"Shall I serve you in bed, your majesty?" PJ asked superfluously.

Chris made a happy hum. "Depends on what kind of serving your talking about. Actually, no it doesn't. The answer is yes, either way." He turned over and grasped one of PJ's pillows, buried his face in it and gave a sleepy, drawn-out grunt. He inhaled deeply, and when he came back up, PJ was gone from the room.

He loved PJ's room, and the feeling it brought. He stared at the ceiling, at the smooth paint job, his eyes lingering over the many wall decorations that showed PJ's vibrant personality almost as well as PJ himself did.

Through the open door, PJ called, "Anything you want to do today,  _love_? Or are you heading back to your flat?" Chris could hear a distant, very faint sizzle.

"What? You craving to spend the day with little old me?" Chris said back, staring idly at the writing of a poster but not reading it.

"All day, every day!" PJ didn't say anything else until he came back in with two plates of eggs on toast. He handed one to Chris, then walked around the bed and sat on the other side. "Want to go into town or stay in?"

Chris shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm sure you'll take excellent care of me either way," he said, smiling like he was taking the piss, though PJ would catch the hidden message of appreciation and gratitude in his words, Chris knew.

"That seems to be my destiny, yes," PJ agreed. "Well, into town it is, then. I've got a few shops I need to run to for a couple of new videos."

 

\+ + +

 

PJ let Chris borrow a fresh shirt, and together, they walked through the streets of the city. They didn't say much, on account of the dreary day, and because PJ had so many things to be keeping track of. Chris didn't mind. His head felt exceptionally calm, even light-hearted. He was with PJ, and that meant that he didn't have anything to worry about.

PJ's stride was long, and ambling. The way he worked was such a miracle to Chris. It seemed so impossible that one person could be so incredibly unique, with so many different aspects, such creativity and optimism. Chris wished he could be more like PJ, could find comfort in ideas and gentle monsters, but he was stuck in reality, where there were no jetpack backpacks or hotels for extraordinary creatures. Where there were pills, and depression, and therapy.

"We need to stop here," PJ said suddenly, gesturing to a very colorful fabric shop on their left. "I need pinks and blues."

"Bright, obviously, because you're PJ?" Chris asked.

"Obviously," PJ affirmed. He bowed his head slightly as he entered the shop, then held the door open behind him for Chris to step through. There was only one other person inside, an older woman, who was perusing a selection of dull oranges.

They exited the shop, fabrics in hand, PJ seeming to be very satisfied with his purpose. "What else do you need?" Chris asked, helping to carry a bag of fabric. He looked into the reflection of the windows across the street, and for just a second, a rush of something slightly more jarring than indifference hit him. It wasn't that he hated what he saw - it was that he didn't recognize it at all. He may as well have been staring into a muddled, dirty pond. But PJ was answering him, so he drew his eyes away.

"Cucumbers, I need some tinfoil, I need blue paint, a red gift bag, some cardboard boxes, something that can be made into a crown, and a  _lot_  of multi-coloured sharpies." PJ laughed once he finished speaking, and Chris laughed too, because one of his best and rare treats was hearing PJ talk about his videos out of context.

"Alright, well  _most_ of that we can get up here," Chris said, nodding up the street to the looming building. Despite the weather, PJ was still vibrant and smiling. Chris felt happier than he could remember feeling in weeks and months.

 

\+ + +

 

The pub was considerably quiet for lunchtime. PJ was laughing too loudly. But Chris was funny, and PJ's laugh was musical, so Chris wasn't about to tell him to stop. He only did a quick look-around to make sure they weren't getting any too-annoyed looks.

He made eye contact with a blonde girl. Instantly, he could tell that she knew who he was. She wasn't freaking out or looking over-excited, just... caught off guard. Chris prayed to God that she didn't decide to come over. The stare they shared lasted for about a second, but Chris was quick enough to suddenly catch all of the emotions she was feeling. Curiosity. Mistrust. He also saw the moment she decided not to come say hi. It hit him kind of hard. His heart paused, and the image stayed imprinted in his mind. She had already turned back to her chips, chatting with the girl across from her, but Chris was still staring.

Why hadn't she come over to him? Was it... had he put her off with his look? Had she  _really_ recognized him in the first place? (Yes, absolutely she had, his brain told him.) Why, then, would she decide not to come over and meet crabstickz? Was it his videos?

It was his videos. She didn't know how she felt about him anymore. She didn't want to be disappointed, so she'd decided it was better not to meet him at all. Chris suddenly felt very full.

"Chris? You alright?"

"Fine, PJ, yeah..." Chris said. He turned back to his mate. The buzzing dulled itself out, and Chris chased the feeling of relief. He reminded himself where he was, why he was out here, surrounded by bags full of mismatched purchases in a pub. It was for PJ.

"You look a bit pale... Should we head back to mine?" PJ asked. He was too concerned for Chris all the time. Why did he have to pick up on things so easily? Chris squirmed a little to the right in his seat.

"If you're done in town, yeah..."

PJ nodded. "Right, I'll just get the bill," he said softly.

Chris cocked his head. "You what?" he asked.

"I'll pay, no worries," PJ said, shrugging, as he waved over a nearby server as politely as he could. Chris sat back in his seat, unsure of why he was feeling so discontent.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a dull buzzing just behind Chris's ears. PJ was aware of it, but doing a damn good job of pretending not to be. He kicked the door open, weighed down by a plethora of bags, and continued chattering obliviously about props as Chris trailed in, carrying the smallest and lightest bag, which he immediately dropped on the floor. He found himself, for the first time, not wanting to be around PJ. Or anybody. He wanted to sit at home and have a depressing pity party.

He didn't realize how very quiet it had suddenly gotten until he looked at PJ. The both of them were unladen, PJ's bags set on the couch, waiting patiently.

"So, are we going to talk about this or keep ignoring it?" Peej's voice was stern, but so full of love that it made Chris's heart hurt to think how much PJ didn't know about him. About how Chris felt about the only person he wasn't completely sick of. About how PJ wasn't just a friend helping a friend, but someone being burdened by a clinging leech who craved this subtle sanity like a moth to a flame. PJ would never be able to know how Chris wanted to spend every day lying in bed with him and hiding from the rest of the world. He wanted to kiss the two close together spots on PJ's cheek every day for the rest of his life. He wanted PJ's shoulder to be his pillow, wanted to fall asleep with PJ every night, wanted to have breakfast with each other and argue over grocery lists and take car rides to visit family over the holidays.

"That's it? Silence? You've got  _nothing_ for me, after all this? It sounds shitty to say, Chris, but I deserve  _more_ than this from you!" PJ flung out a hand toward Chris. He was actually a little red in the face now.

In a second, it clicked for Chris. He kept his mouth shut tight. He wanted PJ to yell at him, to feel better.  _After everything_ , Chris needed  _PJ_ to get through this, to be happy. So he let himself be shouted at, as much as his mouth wanted to agree.  _You deserve so much more than me._

PJ gave a quiet sigh. It was a simple sound, but it told so much. It betrayed his frustration and devastation. "D'you know what this  _does_ to me? Every time I have to see you like this, and to  _know_ that there's  _nothing_ I can do to make you feel better? To know that you're feeling the worst you'll ever feel, and being so scared all the time that you might suddenly get sick of it all, might pop open your drugs and down them all in one? I'm so scared, all the time, for you, Chris."

PJ's voice was croaky, and his eyes were watering. Chris felt a pull in his gut because no.  _No, no, no_ , this was not what he wanted. He didn't want PJ to be sad, he wanted PJ to be mad. He wanted PJ to shout at him. "I'm not going to do that," Chris blurted. He wasn't surprised to hear his voice shake and crack, to feel his eyes fill with cool tears on hot skin. PJ flinched back in surprise at the words. Then, he started shaking his head. _  
_

"Aren't you?"

The words hit Chris so much harder than they should have. In truth, he  _had_ thought about it, but never seriously enough to actually plan anything. He had to answer PJ. "I wouldn't do that," he said. It was the truth. He wouldn't leave PJ with that shit.

"Because I'm not so sure. And it t..." PJ bit back on something in his throat. The both of them were crying. "And it terrifies me. To think that one day I won't be able to talk to you, to laugh at what you say, to see you smile."

Chris's mouth twitched. "I hardly smile anyway."

PJ looked horrified. "What, you think this is a joke?" he shouted, and before Chris could yell  _no, no, no, of course not,_ he continued, "I have nothing more important to me than you, Chris. I need for you to be alright, so my mind can rest. You  _can't_ joke about this like nothing matters!"

Chris blinked. "Why do you..." But he couldn't form anything past that. PJ seemed to understand, though, and he looked resigned.

"Why do I care? Why do I spend every moment I  _breathe_ worried about you? Have you really not noticed, after five years? It's because I'm in love with you."

Chris stood rooted. His hands were shaking. PJ's eyes were brutally honest, beseeching even. He couldn't feel anything beyond his hammering heart and hollow lungs. He couldn't think of anything to say. God had given him a  _miracle,_ and he was speechless.

"I'm sorry," PJ mumbled, looking down. "And I know this ruins everything. You don't have to-"

"No," Chris said, and PJ looked so scared, like he had dropped a beautiful antique and was forced now to watch it fall and shatter. "No, no, no, no, no," Chris chanted. He took several fumbling steps toward PJ, then pulled him into a desperate hug. He wrapped his arms around PJ's shoulders, and PJ collapsed. He held Chris around the middle and burrowed into him, sobbing. Chris was breathing heavily, trying to find some way to console PJ. The both kept apologizing. _  
_

Chris couldn't even have imagined this. In all this time, he had never thought that PJ's feelings toward him had gained any romantic traction. He had always thought it was completely one-sided, that PJ knew, as PJ always knew, and had been kind, caring, compassionate PJ who tolerated the jokes, but didn't further them because he didn't want to get Chris's hopes up. PJ didn't not answer because he was embarrassed, because he was worried about his secret, because he felt like Chris would know.

Chris kissed the side of PJ's head. PJ gave a louder sob. He was still apologizing.

"Peej... PJ... Peej..."

Chris couldn't get his attention. PJ was a fountain of grief, pouring out all of his pent up emotion from who knew how long. Chris didn't move, didn't loosen his grip.

At last, when he didn't think he could bear the feeling any longer, he pulled PJ, still bawling, off him. Chris held him by the shoulders, forced PJ to look at him in the face, and smiled. "Peej. It's alright. Look at me, Peej. I love you, too."

PJ hiccuped as he held his breath. His eyes, still tear-filled, brightened. "You might have said so sooner," he croaked. he gave a long, shaky sigh, and actually smiled. "Fuck, Chris, you damn near broke my heart." He laughed. Chris soared. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy, depressed or not. He actually laughed.

"Does this mean I can kiss you?" Chris asked. PJ laughed and nodded. It was sort of difficult, because Chris's mouth hurt from smiling so wide.

"And I hope this means whatever brought you down today is-"

"Ancient history," Chris assured PJ eagerly. He kissed him again, more forcefully, more eager. PJ wavered a little under him, then laughed through his nose as he regained his footing and matched Chris's enthusiasm.

He was finally kissing PJ. Chris's heart was pounding. He'd never been so happy in his entire life.  _PJ loved him_. Everything that Chris had once been so scared to genuinely let on was out in the open.

Chris was the first to pull back, on account of not being able to breathe. PJ's lips were red rimmed. Seeing that made Chris  _very_ happy.

It seemed ridiculous, but the next thing PJ said was, "Want to watch a film?" He was grinning.

Chris cocked his head. "I don't feel like going out. Or, should I say coming out." PJ snorted.

"I meant in my room, but okay." PJ shrugged.

"Oh. Then, yes," Chris said. It took them about fifteen minutes to stop making out and actually go into the bedroom.

PJ had turned the computer to face the bad and loaded Netflix. He and Chris lay there, Chris the little spoon, PJ stroking Chris's arm tenderly. Chris wasn't paying attention to the film. He was using PJ's shoulder for a pillow. His head felt serene, inside and out. PJ, whether he realized it or not, was humming softly. Chris had a firm hold of PJ's other hand, which he held gingerly against his lips.

PJ moved downward and nosed into Chris's neck, which was definitely more lustful than sweet. Chris tensed, concentrating on the feeling. PJ had started kissing him on the neck from behind. He wound his arm around Chris's waist and began smoothly brushing his thumb up and down Chris's stomach. Chris was afraid to move, afraid he would wake up and this would all be a dream. PJ was barely making a sound as he lavished Chris's neck. The movie seemed a thousand miles away.

PJ rotated Chris's hips lightly, but didn't disturb him completely. Slowly, gently, PJ began to slide over Chris, almost so that he was straddling him while laying down, his mouth sliding on Chris's neck in accordance with his position. Chris felt PJ sucking a hickey onto him, felt PJ's hips move  _just so_ so that his hard cock brushed Chris's thigh.

Chris moaned, and at once, the spell was broken. PJ planted himself firmly over Chris, and Chris turned to face him fully. He latched a hand to PJ's hips, pulled Peej down so that their pelvises slid together. It had been so long for Chris. He gave a small noise that PJ immediately swallowed as he deftly kissed him. It was a swirl of tongue, and Chris always  _knew_  PJ would be a lip biter. The thrill of the moment was all heading south on him.

"How far do you want to go?" PJ asked. His voice was husky. He was looking at Chris with red lips, pupils blown wide. Chris surged upward to call on his lips once more.

As he fell back to the mattress, he said, "All the way, please, God, Peej."

PJ grinned. He swooped back down, and in an instant, Chris was responding to the kiss. The strain he felt on PJ's jeans was maddening. Chris snuck his hand underneath PJ's shirt, onto his back, and began to tug at the cloth. He was just glad that PJ had taken off his hoodie before getting into the bed. PJ sat up, straddling Chris shamelessly, and pulled his shirt up and off. Chris groaned as his dick experienced a near-painful throb of arousal.

"Peej, what d'you want I should do with all your bags?" Sophie called through the door. Chris groaned much louder, although significantly more in annoyance.

"We're a bit busy!" he yelled testily. PJ was half-chuckling, half-giggling.

"Shit! I'll leave it!" Sophie yelled, and Chris heard hurried retreating footsteps.

"Shall I take the time to put a sock on the door?" PJ asked, eyebrow raised. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's no use  _now_ , is it?"

PJ nodded. "Next time, then," he agreed, then leaned down and spent a good portion of time making up for the disruption by giving Chris several colorful apologies on his collarbone.

"You know, if you let me up for about one second, I could get my shirt off," Chris pointed out.

PJ sat up at once, and pulled Chris up so that they were chest to chest, with PJ sitting on Chris's thighs. They pulled off Chris's shirt together, and Chris threw it on the floor. PJ pulled him close by the shoulders, pressed their chests flat together, kissed him with more tongue than mouth.

Chris's cock was aching. He reached a hand downward, and it fell on PJ's jeans. PJ gasped softly.

"Do you have the shit? The - the condoms and shit?" Chris asked breathlessly. He looked down to work away the button of PJ's jeans. PJ leaned back on his hands, taking a moment to pant before answering.

"Yes. I've never done this with a man before - have you?"

Chris nodded. Twice, he had. Once topping, once bottoming. Never before had he wanted to be fucked as badly as he wanted to be fucked by PJ. "You can top. It's similar," he said. PJ nodded his assent, clambered off the bed to his closet and reached into a nook.

"Why so far?" Chris whined, undoing the button of his trousers and slipping them down. It was as liberated as he'd ever felt - from his problems or his clothes. That was saying a lot.

PJ turned back with condom and lube in hand. "My last defense. Gives me a moment alone to think about it. If I'm second guessing myself by the time I'm here, I pay attention," he said. Chris raised his eyebrows.

"Second guesses?" he asked. Before he even had time to worry about an answer, PJ was crossing back and growling, "Like hell."

He kissed Chris twice, passionately, as he jerked his trousers to the ground. It was a wonder he didn't fall, but Chris wasn't going to comment when his mouth was getting such special treatment. PJ tore open the condom package while Chris explained, "You'll have to do a bit of work before you can-"

"I  _have_ read fanfictions of us, Chris," Peej interrupted. "You don't have to go into  _such_ vivid details."

Chris smirked and raised an eyebrow. "You think you know all, then? Alright, we'll see how you do based on the advice of some teenage girls," he said, then leaned back onto his elbows and gazed up at PJ. He was grinning to himself as he rolled on the condom, and Chris's smile faltered. That had to be the damn most enticing thing he had ever seen in his whole life, and so utterly  _PJ_ that his cock took twice its normal interest. He reached down and started to give himself a few dry pulls. PJ's smile widened as he finished rolling.

"When's the last time you messed around back here?" PJ asked, climbing back onto the bed. He was pulling down Chris's pants, then tossing them aside with the rest of their clothes.

Chris gave a half-impatient, half-indecisive moan. "What day of the week is it?" he asked, and PJ barked out a laugh. Chris heard the pop of the bottle, dared himself to look between his bent legs to PJ. He appeared to be concentrating very hard on lathering his fingers. Chris's breathing turned shallower.

"You ready?" PJ asked.

"Have been for five years now, thanks for asking, though," Chris joked. PJ laughed again, and that was that. He was touching Chris's naked body, slick fingers pushing into him. Chris couldn't control the noise that escaped his mouth at the thought of PJ doing this to him. He felt a little tighter than he'd have preferred. Even so, PJ was ready to press further within a minute. Chris had always liked PJ's musician hands, his long fingers.

"You're obscene, Chris," PJ breathed, amazed. He was staring at his own fingers, eyes darting up to Chris's face with flushed hunger. Chris licked his lips.

"Obscene, and ready to be fucked," Chris decided. "If you've any respect for me at all, Peej, you'll put me out of my misery and shag me raw."

PJ grinned. Quickly, without warning, he gave a single lick up Chris's cock and then set back to work on his arse. Chris was still moaning from surprise when PJ was beginning to push into him, laughing lightly the whole time.

"Cheeky bastard."

"Could say the same about you," PJ said, and ran a hand from Chris's crack to his hip. Chris paused.

"Did you just make a pun during sex, Peej?"

PJ laughed loudly as he gripped Chris's hip with on hand and guided himself in with the other. Chris began to writhe and squirm beneath him, craving his orgasm so badly. He wished they'd started doing this ages ago, back when Chris was carefree and horny all the time, rather than just horny all the time. PJ stopped sliding in, and Chris tried to acclimatize as quickly as he could. His breathing was hard. 

"Tell me if you don't like something I do," PJ said softly. Chris could hear the plea of arousal in his voice.

"I would quite literally let you fuck me in half and not open my mouth to complain once," Chris said back. He squirmed down on PJ's dick, chasing release, begging for it silently.

"I want you to love this as much as I love you," PJ told Chris tenderly. "So you'll tell me, alright?" PJ didn't move, just raised his eyebrows. Chris, desperate for PJ to do  _something_ , nodded. As a reward, PJ used his lubed hand to grip Chris's cock and start pumping it up and down. Chris didn't bother to keep his voice down, because he had never been that kind of person, and he was certain that PJ liked to hear it from him. He felt his breath hitch and whine at the feeling of a hand that wasn't his own. At the same time, PJ began a slow thrust, inward and outward.

"I love you, Peej," Chris murmured sloppily. PJ hummed a high pitched noise of arousal. He was bucking in and out as smoothly as he could manage, eyes shut tight, biting down on his lower lip. Chris felt his gut burning at the need for orgasm, and it was directly related to the face PJ made when he was fucking someone.

PJ fell into a comfortable, slick slide, and Chris simply listened. He had always loved those noises, the messy, hot sounds of sex, the music of two bodies. PJ was giving drawn out, breathy gasps, eyes fluttering shut on every exhale. Chris was savoring this, the feeling, the noise, the beauty of a first time with someone special. He could almost ignore the subtle build at the base of his stomach, until it became more insistent as PJ unintentionally sped up his thrusts, his gasps becoming higher in volume and lower in pitch. Chris was close. PJ's jerks were getting sloppier.

"I - I - Chris - I-" PJ gasped. Chris nodded. It wasn't exactly chief dialogue, but he understood the message just fine. Any moment now, he was going to be filled up with the product of PJ's lust, a tangible proof of their love. He wanted PJ to have this, to get his release from Chris, to be sure of their love. He didn't want any second guesses.

It was barely a moment before Chris felt the jerk of the condom inside of him as PJ leaned forward and exhaled shakily. Chris felt himself bordering, straddling right on the line between torture and bliss, felt PJ's brief pause on his cock melt into hurried pumping, and let himself go. His orgasm coated his stomach, and he moaned through it as PJ wound down on his sensitive dick. He let off completely after a moment to pull himself out. Chris felt emptied, and sank back as his muscles relaxed. PJ's arms were shaking. He pulled off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into the closest garbage.

"We've made a right mess," Chris said huskily. PJ laughed and reached under the bed for a box of tissues. Chris tried not to think about what those tissues were normally kept there for. He  _just_  had an orgasm. PJ wank fantasies could wait for fifteen minutes.

"Allow me to take care of the mess I made," PJ chuckled. He wiped the streaks of white from Chris's abdomen and chucked the tissue, then collapsed onto the newly cleaned spot. He kissed the underside of Chris's jaw, and Chris curled an arm around him to hold him close.

"I'm so in love with you, Peej."

PJ smiled. "I guess that makes me one lucky guy." Chris laughed. He wouldn't have thought so before, but he'd woken up today feeling good, so maybe he wasn't as far from recovery as he thought. In any case, he didn't want to think about his mind right now. The film was almost over, and Chris knew a thing or two about good climaxes. He didn't want to miss this one.


	4. Chapter 4

"And how are you feeling today, Chris?"  _Squeak, squeak_. Dr. Gache leaned forward in his chair, his pressed suit the color of dust. Chris had his ankle crossed over his knee, his lips slightly pursed. 

"Brilliant," Chris mused, half-sarcastic.

Gache raised his eyebrows, somehow unaware of the tone even after knowing Chris for so long. "Really? And what's brought about the sudden change?"

"The hot brunet waiting for me in the waiting room. We're going out for coffee after I finish up with all this rubbish," Chris said. He smiled kindly. Gache didn't seem wavered by the comment.  _Squeak, squeak, squeak_. He leaned back in his chair again.

"Have you met someone new?" Gache asked, interested.

Chris shook his head. "Nope. Not new at all," he said happily. He looked out the window at the clear blue sky, so rarely seen by London. The sun was in sight, for the first time that week.

"A friend, then?"

Chris turned back to Gache and spoke solemnly. "A boy I like once asked me if I'd like to play a character of his for a Youtube film. In this film, a quirky kid - me - gets on a train with a suitcase. The conductor is a bit mental - he sold his heart for a bag of rats, you see. All the while, this quirky kid just can't get his shit together. He lost his suitcase, he's bumping into people, he's looking at page three of a female newspaper... Anyway, this conductor just wants to get this kid's ticket, but I'm all out of sorts, running around, trying to dodge the conductor. Then, it turns out, the conductor gets the suitcase. And he opens it. Inside is the conductor's heart. I'm watching him find what I need. So, the conductor hands me back the suitcase and tells me to hold onto it. The Forever Train."

"Are you suggesting that this friend helped you to recover? That by finding your 'suitcase' - your own emotions, your level head - you reached a mutual understanding of affection?" Gache asked. Chris wanted to leave. This was only tolerable because he knew that PJ was waiting outside for him.

"I'm saying that PJ and I have been in love for a while, but thank fuck we finally started shagging last week," Chris replied bluntly. "Talking to him was nice and all, but my head is practically silent all the time now. It's just me inside me. And, well, sometimes PJ, but..."

Gache was silent and still. Chris leaned forward.  _Squeak, squeak_.

"You don't agree? There's a difference between addiction and love,  _Doctor_. One helps you get out of depression. The other is a fucking disgusting insult to insinuate. I'll pay for the rest of the hour, but we're done here." The chair gave a final squeak as Chris stood and walked out.

PJ was sitting in the lobby, phone in hand. He looked up, curious, and stood with a funny look on his face when he saw Chris. "I thought you had forty-five more minutes," he said. Chris shrugged.

"He's a wanker. I'll get someone new. With better chairs."

"Yeah," PJ agreed. "These plastic ones killed my butt."

"That may have just been a bit left over from-"

"So, coffee?" PJ asked pointedly, but he was smiling. Chris laughed, slid his arm around PJ's waist as though it was the easily thing in the world. PJ mirrored him.

"Coffee, alright," Chris said. He held up his hand for a taxi, and was delighted to catch the first one that passed. It pulled neatly to a stop just in front of them. Chris opened the door for PJ then climbed in himself. He was shocked when he saw the driver. "I know you!" Chris sputtered.

The driver looked back at him, confused for a moment, then enlightened. "You had the sour face," he said lightly. "Glad to see today isn't such a bad day. Where you heading?"

PJ looked at Chris, bemused. Chris said, "Closest Starbucks, please. I'm going to treat my good mood to a date." He had the feeling, as the cab signaled and pulled back onto the street, that today was going to be a good day. And, as long as he held onto that feeling, held onto PJ, he felt like maybe recovery  _wasn't_ so far after all.


End file.
